Writer’s Block

His fingers were atrophied by misplaced inspiration. But as he watched her again he could feel the fluid of life fill his extremities. He gripped his pen with a renewed vigor and visions to write his name on her body with effortless strokes.

To unbalance her scales with the weight of his words.

To send her tumbling heels over head with her ankles in his palms no longer able to run through his mind, but submit to his chase. More than a leg, she had both up on the nonexistent competition for his attention and he paused to admire how far and long they stretched into the heavens, tip toeing on the horizon.

And how they would soon become a belt around his waist as he began to write, dipping his quill into her fount, then soaking her pages in a ritual of renewal.